Burnin' In My Veins
by pokeitlikejello
Summary: Huddy. A little insight into House's drug addiction. Slight SPOILER for a mention of something in season four. This takes place late season four and rated M for slight language and the drug references.


**This is just a oneshot. It takes place later in Season Four. I don't own House M.D. nor the characters and I don't own "Runaway Train" by Soul Asylum either. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Call you up in the middle of the night    
Like a firefly without a light**

"House? What the hell happened to you?"

"It's raining."

"No kidding. Come inside. You're going to freeze to death."

Cuddy ushered a sopping wet House into her home at ten after one in the morning. His movements were slow and her eyebrows drew together in concern.

"I'm fine."

"You called me over an hour ago. Did you walk here?" Cuddy peered through the pouring rain, scanning for his car in the darkness.

"Can't drive under the influence." He stared at the puddle beneath his feet. "Well, I _could_-"

"Don't even think about it." She closed the front door. "What else did you take tonight?"

"Enough to make you look incredibly hot."

Cuddy gave him a look. "Let me see if I can find you something to wear. Stay there. I don't want you tracking water all over my house."

Cuddy took off down the hallway. House ignored her words and made his way into the living room. Still clutching his cane, he flopped down heavily on her couch. The warmth of her home was making him tired. As he sat there, House attempted to peel off his soaking clothes, but his dull movements made it tough.

Stepping into the living room, Cuddy's mouth dropped open as her eyes fell on him sitting on her couch and soaking her cushions with water. Narrowing her eyes, Cuddy threw a robe to him.

"Thanks for staying by the front door."

He didn't bother to take the robe. "Thanks for being an inhospitable bitch."

"House, what are you doing here?"

**So tired that I couldn't even sleep   
So many secrets I couldn't keep**

"I was awake."

"Well, I _wasn't_."

"My problem is your problem, Cuddy."

"How so?"

"Do you know what today is?"

Cuddy sucked in a breath. She turned from him, crossing the room. His eyes burned her as he watched her nervous pacing. She gave him a quick glance.

"Of course I know what today is."

House raised his chin. "The day you tore, ripped, and hacked my muscle from my thigh."

"And made sure you didn't lose your leg." Cuddy stopped pacing.

"Fuck you, Cuddy."

She ignored his comment. "I don't have the patience to do this every year, House. Please, just accept it and _move on_. I'm tired."

"Do you know where I would be right now if you-"

"Yes, with Stacy. I know. You would have a relationship and a life without a disability." Cuddy began pacing again. "You would be far from Princeton-Plainsboro and we would exchange holiday greeting cards. I_ know_, House. You have to stop this self pity. It's killing you."

**Can you help me remember how to smile  
 Make it somehow all seem worthwhile   
How on earth did I get so jaded   
Life's mystery seems so faded**

"Come here."

"House-"

"Just come here, Cuddy."

Cuddy removed her hands from her hips and crossed to him. His cold hand slid behind her neck and he pulled her down to him, kissing her. Cuddy would have pulled away, but in this moment she felt _that_ bad for him.

As quickly as it started, it was over as House pushed her away and glared. "It's not even worth it anymore."

"Give it a couple of days and you'll be fine." Cuddy swiped at her mouth, wanting to rid herself of the lingering taste of alcohol.

"I doubt it."

"House, please." She rolled her eyes at him. "It's not going to change anything for you to mourn every year."

"I can't hold a memorial for my death?"

"You're not dead!" Cuddy's volume surprised him. "Wow, you lost muscle from your _thigh_. It could be a hell of a lot worse! You could _actually be_ _dead_." Her eyes narrowed and her words were enveloped in ice. "I never thought Doctor Gregory House would ever wallow in self pity."

"Once a year," he muttered.

"But, it takes its toll."

"I didn't ask you to preach to me about-"

"I didn't ask you to show up at my house soaking wet and high!"

"I'll go."

House attempted to stand, but couldn't quite get the hang of remaining upright on his two feet which were numb with cold. Cuddy moved quickly towards the couch.

"You can't even stand." She placed an arm around his waist to help him. "Here..."

House clutched onto Cuddy and fell back onto the couch, pulling her down with him. His arms were strong around her.

"House!"

"What?"

"Let go. You're soaking wet."

"Now you are too."

Cuddy shoved her palms hard against him and drew herself up and away from him. House stared as she backed up. He expected her to start pacing again, but she didn't.

**I can go where no one else can go  
 I know what no one else knows**

"Why the hell do you do this, huh? I mean, I get it, House, you're addicted. I just don't understand _why_. What the hell happened to make you do this to yourself? And I've heard the pain story, the Stacy story, the prostitutes, unfulfilled life, I hate everyone story. I _need_ you to tell me something that actually has _meaning_."

He shrugged. "That's everything. All it is."

"There's always something more with you."

"Nope."

Cuddy held her eyes on him for a long time before finally deciding to move to the doorway, almost defeated and quite tired.

"I'll go make some tea or something."

"They had forsaken me."

Cuddy stopped in the doorway and faced him. "What?"

"The drugs." House shrugged again.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "The drugs had _forsaken_ you."

"You asked."

"I don't understand."

"No one believed I had actual pain. They _thought_ I had a drug addiction. Things could have turned out pretty damn differently if just _one_ person believed me."

Cuddy took a step toward the couch. "I belie-"

"When it was too late." House looked to the floor.

"I still don't understand how the drugs-"

"You probably never will."

"You were taking-"

He brought his eyes back up to her. "They were _suppose_ to make me better. They were _suppose_ to manage my pain, but they _failed_. Now, I use them, abuse them-"

"House, your Vicodin is an opiate, a drug." Her eyes were locked on his. "It's not a person who can react and apologize for the harm it's caused-"

"I know that, Cuddy."

"Then, why-"

"Forget it."

"House-"

"I told you that you wouldn't understand."

House turned his head away from her. Taking that as a cue, she turned and walked to the kitchen.

**Everything seems cut and dry   
Day and night, earth and sky   
Somehow I just don't believe it**

"Drink this. You need something warm."

"I don't want it."

"Fine."

The ceramic mug clunked as Cuddy set it on the coffee table. She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to speak. And he did.

"We never talked about it."

Cuddy stared, not knowing what he was referring to. House looked to her and continued.

"When I... stuck the knife in the wall socket."

"I don't want to know," she replied simply, her eyebrows flicking towards the ceiling.

"You're not curious?"

"Even if I was, I still wouldn't want to know. There are some things I'd rather not try to understand about you, House."

"I know this world. Everything. Cause and effect. When you're sick, symptoms appear _because_ you're sick. A light turns off and your pupils dilate _because_ the light turns off." House was in his head, his mind trying to grasp something just beyond him.

"With you so far."

"What if it's wrong?"

"Seriously, House, what did you take?"

Cuddy moved to the couch and sat down next to him, concerned.

"He _said_ he knew there was more."

"When the brain begins shutting down-"

"I'm aware." House snapped his attention to her.

"Then-"

He looked away again. "And I thought, 'what if I'm actually_ wrong_?'"

"So you electrocuted yourself." Cuddy leaned back into the couch cushions, disapproving.

"Exactly."

House reached into his wet jacket pocket and pulled out the orange bottle. He pulled the lid off and dumped two pills into his hand.

"House," Cuddy warned.

"Cuddy," House replied and popped both pills into his mouth.

**Bought a ticket for a runaway train  
 Like a madman laughin' at the rain   
Little out of touch, little insane   
Just easier than dealing with the pain**

Cuddy watched him as he slid the bottle back into his pocket. Her thoughts were on the honesty he had displayed that short time ago.

"You knew, didn't you?" she asked him "What you were doing. You knew it was happening."

House let his eyes meet hers. "Yes."

"Why didn't... House, why didn't you say something? You saw you were becoming addicted, you had to have known, and you did nothing?"

"We're not discussing this."

House shook his head. He wouldn't have been so straight with her if he knew she was going to bring it back up. He only said those things to drive her further away, even if they were completely true.

"Did you want to be addicted to Vicodin? That's the only logical explanation. You _wanted_ to rely on a little white pill for the rest of your life."

"I wanted to not feel like shit, Cuddy," House told her, glaring. "Do you have any idea how much this surgery has actually ruined everything in my life?"

"It didn't-"

"It_ did_. I knew who I was and I was set in my ways, but that all changed when I suddenly couldn't walk the same anymore and I was in constant pain. I took the pills to _help_ me."

"House... I don't know what to say to..."

"You don't have to say anything. I'll see you tomorrow."

House painfully forced himself to his feet with the aid of his cane. Cuddy stood as well, worried he would fall since he was still under the influence and just took more Vicodin.

"Let me drive you-" she offered to him.

"No."

House moved past her, the room moving in and out of focus, a scary sight if he wasn't feeling so good at the moment.

"If something happened on your way-"

"_No_."

His tone caused her to stop in the hallway. She stared after him as he left.

"Okay."

**It seems no one can help me now  
 I'm in too deep, there's no way out  
 This time I have really led myself astray**

"I need a favor."

Cuddy stood in House's office as he sat in his desk chair. He was not looking so well after his decisions about his previous night.

"What?" he grumbled in response, refusing to look at her.

"I," she hesitated and then blurted the rest out, "have-to-take-your-Vicodin."

House didn't react at first. Cuddy waited, drawing back slightly in fear he might suddenly explode. He lifted his head slowly and Cuddy feared he was a ticking time bomb.

"_What_?"

"I know, House," Cuddy took a step toward his desk, "but we have a very, _very_, important man visiting the hospital today and you can't be seen taking your-"

"Who is he?"

"House-"

"Who?" House stood to his feet. "And since when does my Vicodin intake have anything to do with privileged visitors of this hospital? If the jackass can't tell, I'm _in pain_. I don't carry a cane because I think it completes my ensemble."

"He's one of the hospital's biggest sponsors," Cuddy tried to soothe. "His daughter died of a drug overdose two years ago. He's heard of your problems-"

"Problems?"

"You know what I mean. I can't have you popping pills in his presence."

"You're lying to him?"

"No." Cuddy folded her arms over her chest. "I'm hiding the truth. He's heard of your issues, but as long as he doesn't see it, we'll be-"

"What am I suppose to do about my pain?"

"Aspirin."

"If that worked, I wouldn't need Vicodin."

"It's just _a day_. You can handle that, right?"

"Right."

Cuddy paused. His unenthusiastic response worried her. She didn't realize he was already starting to sweat at the prospect of making it through the day without having his one comfort.

"House, if you can't handle it for a day, I'll send you home because you can't be here if-"

"I can handle it, Cuddy. Who the hell do you think I am?"

Cuddy crossed the room and took the pill bottle from House's outstretched hand. He tried not to stare as she took the pills with her from the room.

Once she began down the hall, House moved on to his stash. He pulled the spare bottle of Vicodin from his Lupus book with the middle cut out.

"I need those too."

House looks up, surprised to see Cuddy standing back inside of his office. He held onto the bottle tightly, thinking it over while Cuddy was convinced the bottle wasn't making it to her hands.

"House."

He tossed the bottle to her, which she just barely caught. Cuddy fixed her eyes on him.

"And I need the stapler in your bottom drawer."

"In case you need to-"

House cut himself off as Cuddy swiftly crossed the room. He stepped back as she leaned down in front of him and retrieved the stapler from the bottom drawer of his desk. She popped the top from the base and dumped the white pills into her hand. Cuddy handed him the empty stapler and left the room.

House lobbed the stapler onto his desk. She took his stashes. Each one of him. However, what surprised him even more was the fact that she _knew_ where each one was.

Setting his cane against his desk, House sat down in his chair, contemplating how long it would take for his withdrawal to kick in.

**Runaway train never comin' back  
 Runaway train tearin' up the track   
Runaway train burnin' in my veins   
Runaway but it always seems the same**

"What are you doing?"

"_Go_._ Away_."

Cuddy was standing next to House's desk, staring behind it as he sat on the floor in his darkened office. She lowered herself down next to him and extended a plastic bag with two pill bottles and eight pills in it.

"Here."

House eyed up the bag before reaching out and taking it.

"Thanks."

Licking the sweat from his upper lip, House opened the bag and pulled out two of the white pills. He swallowed them dry.

"Sorry I had to take them from you. It was just for show to-"

"I know." He set the bag aside.

"You do realize you can't live without it, right?"

"If I had to, I-"

"No. You couldn't."

Cuddy lifted herself to her feet. She looked down at him. His eyes met hers.

"Yeah."

Quietly sighing, Cuddy turned from him and left his office. Once House was certain she was gone, he opened the plastic bag and popped two more pills into his mouth. He rested against the desk and closed his eyes, waiting for the drugs to take him over.

* * *

Fin. 


End file.
